


slowly, now

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is Alive, Drabble, Hand Jobs, Insomnia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Orgasm Control, Post-Season/Series 03, Steve wants to help, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and can't sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: Steve nuzzles the underside of his jaw, mouths at his pulse point. The feeling of Billy’s heartbeat underneath his tongue is all he needs. All he’lleverneed.He’s alive. Aliveand writhing beneath him.aka billy needs sleep





	slowly, now

**Author's Note:**

> this is a product of my newly acquired knowledge that orgasms make you sleepy. 
> 
> title taken from "slowly, now" by sleeping at last.

“And I kid you not when I say it was the most _boring_ novel I’ve ever forced myself to read.”

Billy gives a smile, despondent and forced, because he doesn’t actually give a shit what Steve’s saying, but he doesn’t want him to feel like his attempts are in vain.

“And to top it all off, Mrs. Nelson gave me, like, a B for it. My poor brain cells didn’t suffer through all that only for me to get a _B_. Nelson’s a hag. I wonder if she’s even married.”

They’re laying side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling. Steve’s waving his hand expressively with every sentence he utters, like he can’t get his point across without the use of his hands. Billy’s convinced he has some Italian heritage.

“She does wear a ring. Probably a widow. Bet whatever unfortunate dude she–”

“Listen, Harrington,” Billy cuts in. He means to sound exasperated, or at least a little peevish, but the words leave him weakly, in a tone he himself has never heard before. He clears his throat. “Not sayin’ I don’t _appreciate_ what you’re doin’ but it isn’t helping. You’re givin’ me a migraine if anything.”

Steve can hear the lack of sincerity in Billy’s tone. After Starcourt, nothing that leaves Billy’s lips with a bite sounds as sharp as it should. Billy hates it, hates how vulnerable and open he feels. Hates that he’s like an open book for all to read, and fucking hates that he doesn’t have the ability to slam himself shut.

“So cut the shit. I’ll get some sleep eventually,” Billy swallows.

It’s a blatant request for Steve to leave. But Steve, being the stubborn piece of shit he is, turns onto his side, makes the blanket shift a little as he faces Billy’s profile. “When I first found out about the Upside Down,” he stops to take a breath. Feels like he shouldn’t make it more about him than it should be. So he swallows down the shakiness slicking his vocal cords, and continues. “I couldn’t sleep for days, _weeks_. It was so hard. Slept with that nail-studded bat next to my bed, double-checked the locks seventy times before I got into bed. Sleep never really came.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t see the faces of the people you killed every time you closed your eyes,” Billy retorts, voice oddly even. “You don’t know jack shit, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that.

“I’ll fucking count sheep like a five year old. You can see yourself out.”

There’s finality there. But Steve hasn’t stopped being a stubborn piece of shit in the span of two minutes. His fingers twitch with a possibility. Then he’s lifting his hand, cupping the clench of Billy’s jaw to coax him into looking at him. Billy doesn’t put up a fight. He looks at him, eyes drooping with exhaustion he can’t give into.

“The whole feeling detached thing? I get it,” he says. “Like you’re swimming in the deep end and suddenly your feet aren’t touching the ground.”

Billy tuts his tongue, keeping up the nonchalant front. “Man, don’t fuckin’ give me that. You were just bitching about Charlotte Bronte’s piece of shit literature, now you’re–” he doesn’t exactly have the chance to finish the sentence off. Steve’s lips smother whatever words there are. And holy fuck.

Steve’s kissing him. And to hell with the Upside Down. Fuck that. To hell with the entire fucking world. Everything narrows down to the press of Steve’s lips against his. Hot and silencing and so, so _anchoring_ that Billy can’t help but bunch his fingers in Steve’s stupid hair, pulling him closer, angling his head just right to lick into his mouth. The kiss calms the mayhem breaking out beneath Billy’s skin. The heat of Steve’s body against his makes him arch, lips parting, teeth digging into Steve’s lip. And for the first time in days, he closes his eyes. Feels tears burn hotly behind his eyelids. He doesn’t deserve to feel this grounded.

Steve’s hand moves down the duvet as he wrenches his mouth away from Billy’s. Billy’s lips stay parted, brows knitted as Steve wraps his hand around his soft cock. He can feel Steve’s hot breath against his cheek. Everything feels hot. Safe. So safe.

And Steve _understands_. He understands why Billy’s covered in a thick duvet in the middle of fucking August. He understands why Billy can’t stand the smell of chlorine or the sound of fireworks or the fucking idea of his Camaro. He gets it.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Billy’s hand’s still clenched tight in his hair, keeping him close. And Steve’s working his dick to hardness, slow and steady, using his pre-cum as lube. “Not your fault,” he ventures, low, right into Billy’s mouth. “Wasn’t you.”

Billy looks like he wants to argue. Looks _torn_ between arguing and bucking into Steve’s grip. So he kisses him again, wet and deep and filthy. Steve moans, moves his hand a little faster, tightens his grip just a little bit, enough to have Billy withdrawing and throwing his head back, tendons drawn taut in his neck.

Steve nuzzles the underside of his jaw, mouths at his pulse point. The feeling of Billy’s heartbeat underneath his tongue is all he needs. All he’ll _ever_ need. _He’s alive._ _Alive_ and writhing beneath him.

Billy gives a drawn out moan, hips moving in tandem with Steve’s hand. “C’mon, Harrin-_nngh_,” he exhales, hands moving down from Steve’s hair to his back. His nails dig in. _He’s alive._

Steve strokes him fast and hard, waits till Billy starts to shake with the first waves of pleasure, then _lets go_. Billy scratches down Steve’s back in retaliation, runs his foot so hard down Steve’s calf that it burns. So Steve starts again, faster, keeps bringing him to the edge, waiting for Billy’s body to draw taut before slowing down. Billy cries into Steve’s shoulder, begs for his release. And Steve wants to. _God,_ does he want to see Billy let go, see his pretty lips part and his cerulean eyes water. But he needs to exhaust him.

He strokes Billy’s hair away from his face, brushes his lips over the few stray tears he let free, mouths at the dip beneath his ear, all while pushing Billy’s foreskin back with his thumb. He feels Billy’s abs clench against him, feels his nails draw bloody crescents into his back. Feels more than hears Billy’s whispered pleas into his ear. He’s powerless to saying no this time. He takes Billy’s earlobe between his teeth, tugs lightly, quickens the pace of his hand until his wrist hurts. “Come on,” he whispers, breathy and damp against the shell of Billy’s ear. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He covers Billy’s mouth with his own to swallow his moans, feels him go completely still against him, thighs tensing before he’s spilling all over himself and Steve’s hand, mouth slack against his.

They pull apart, both equally affected by the orgasm. Billy heaves a laugh, head lolling to the side like he’s high or something. Steve rolls off, finds a random shirt on the floor to wipe his hand. Once he’s on his back, he pulls Billy to him, lets him fit against his side, strokes his hair, lets their legs tangle together.

And when he falls asleep, he falls asleep to the sound of Billy’s snores.

**Author's Note:**

> im on [tumblr](https://inkedplume.tumblr.com)


End file.
